


A Touch of Noir

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:52:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A widow, her bodyguard, and all the expected references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch of Noir

**Author's Note:**

> based off remington-zero's [Noir Age](http://remington-zero.tumblr.com/post/98352025295/close-buddies-and-also-close-buddies) art on tumblr.

He’s her bodyguard; tall, imposing, knuckles lined with a flash of lyrium, expression stoic and hard as she laughed and flirted and made deals with questionable friends and foes. He’d linger behind her like a tall shadow dressed in a dark suit, adjusting his tie, posture straight but his eyes never staying to one place.

He looked to the doors, to the walls, to the paintings on the walls, to the people, to  _her_.

Isabela was lounging comfortably in a hidden room at the back of a dive, showing long dark legs off under the bright white of her dress, crossing them and leaning back as she joked with some men from the carta.

“ _O_ _f course my crew can help you out, boys_ ,” she said, voice genuine despite knowing full well the betrayal that awaited either of them. _N_ _ever put your trust in the_   _Carta_ , she had said to him earlier, leaning against him to whisper in his ear as they were driven to the bar, _T_ _hey’d do anything to get a leg up in a partnership_.

Most men knew not to pull a fast one with Isabela. She was the head of her own gang, her own crew of dangerous cast-offs from society; widow who spoke little of her husband’s death, a man once so powerful in the underground that you couldn’t even sneeze in his direction. But she took up the mantle, took up the furs and wore the jewelry and clothes he had bought her with a new found pride. She had found Fenris in hiding, made him a deal, I scratch your back and get you off the streets and you scratch mine by watching it and looking tough, sweetheart.

But the Carta thought themselves above most men, and the Carta had eyes in the paintings kept in the backroom. Fenris saw them, noticing the flicking of light behind the paintings and it was then that he leaned forward, whispering something low in a foreign tongue. A phrase that signaled it was time to cut business short and keep on their way.

The dwarves wouldn’t try anything this early in the fledgling relationship. Later down the road when they have themselves the lyrium and smuggled goods they wanted, that’s when they’d do it. But you could never be sure when bootlegged alcohol was involved and heavy smoke clouded the air, and he’d rather see Isabela out than remain in that room for a moment longer.

He lead her out with his hand at the small of her back, sticking close, smelling the smoke that clung to her fur coat even as they made their way outside into the fresh cool air of the night. Streetlights buzzed and flickered on this side of town, there was a mist that called for a colder day tomorrow, and Isabela clutched her coat near her chest and pulled out a cigarette with a free hand. Fenris was quick to light it before it even reached her lips, the snap of a lighter and the flicker of a flame that glowed a warm orange in contrast to the grey dark of Kirkwall.

They walked for a bit, towards where Isabela’s driver was waiting, and without eyes watching him and walls of a stranger’s hideaway closing in, Fenris felt his posture lose its sense of well-fashioned pride. He slouched, his fingers twitched, he looked over his shoulder every once in awhile and Isabela laughed and blew a cloud of smoke that hung heavy in the mist.

"A statue of pure lyrium," she said finally, looking towards her bodyguard out of the corner of her eye, "Fashioned into a bird. That’s what they’re after."

"So I am aware." His tone was straitlaced, formal, though said with a tinge of offense as he was an elf, his hearing was sharp, he heard everything. But she knew that he knew and was only making small conversation under the shadow of tall abandoned buildings.

"I don’t trust it. Anyone hiding a bird made of pure lyrium has surely gone mad." She stood close to him, stopping their walk to the car to linger near him, inhaling her cigarette before dropping it to the ground, snuffing it out beneath the toe of her expensive shoe. "I'm mad to have even considered making this deal."

Fenris said nothing, grunting lightly as she absent-mindedly adjusted his tie, loosening it for him, knowing how he hated the way it tightly clung to his neck.

"It’s going to be a great deal of trouble trying to get that blasted hawk."

“ _Fa_ _lcon,_ ” he corrected, looking away as he felt her warm breath cloud against his suit, as he smelled her sweet perfume and tried to ignore the way his voice caught in his throat at their closeness, at her facing him.

He had been a bodyguard before. Always close at hand, always within reach...but this was different, this closeness voluntary, the deal between them voluntary. He could have said no, but he didn’t. He could have left by now, but he didn’t. When a woman made a life surrounding herself with men she couldn’t trust, he made certain to be the one person in her life that she could, even if she didn’t believe it for a second.

Isabela laughed, breath still bitter with remnants of her smoke. She patted the lapels of his suit, turned back around towards their ride once more, and he trailed beside her as opposed to behind.

"We’ll pay Varric a little visit tomorrow afternoon," she said as he opened the door for her, "I’m certain I heard of this little bird in a book."


End file.
